


the lords in black

by sp_spaceboy



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, Night Terrors, Nightmares, The Black and White (Black Friday), Wilbur Cross-centric, the lords in black are terrifying, this one is sad lol, woward woward woward wowa-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 06:47:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp_spaceboy/pseuds/sp_spaceboy
Summary: wilbur experiences night terrors. this is one of them.
Relationships: Wilbur Cross/Howard Goodman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	the lords in black

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Growing Old (with you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002595) by [Lichinamo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lichinamo/pseuds/Lichinamo). 



> exploring the different timelines in the Black & White was sooooo damn interesting! hopefully i'll get to play around with them some more as i write more!

Whispers filled his ears. Shouts of  _ Welcome! _ and  _ Wiley! _ and distant howling cries surrounded him. Every which way he looked, he found flashes of grasping hands, endless rows of impossibly wide grins, thousands of eyes watching. He caught wriggling, writhing movements that he couldn’t quite make out. He heard the hideous, gut-churning  _ squelch _ of something.

Wilbur flailed about uselessly. He was free to float in that empty space, but even with all the effort he could ever manage to muster, no part of him ever moved. He was a statue—arms and legs still as stone.

A snaking grip wrapped around his ankle and yanked him violently down. He screamed.

“ _ This is your home! _ ” Something cried out to him. They were joyful, maniacal.

Wilbur felt his stomach shrivel up within him, and the air was vacuumed from his lungs. He couldn’t reply. He couldn’t protest, tell them that,  _ No! This isn’t my home! _

He was thrown forward with the force of the gods, and he felt his organs tear through his skin. He felt an imaginary wind streak through his middle like an open window, and he heard liquid collecting and  _ squelching _ behind him. He couldn’t look down or back, but an electric blue flashed through his mind, blinding and mind-numbing.

When he forced his attention back to what was before him, he was faced with a massive, tentacled monster with brightly glowing eyes. Ghastly, and largely shrouded in shadow, the horror he faced reached a slithering appendage out toward him. It grabbed him through the middle—it slipped right through his stomach like there was a damned hole—and came to wrap around his upper chest.

“ _ Curious, boy… _ ” It rumbled.

Wilbur tried with all his might to struggle. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, and his mind was slipping away.

“ _ No, no, no. Not yet, boy. _ ”

A large yellow eye opened on the horror’s stomach. It stared at him with a shockingly vibrant violet iris.

It said nothing. Flashes of unspeakable moments, images,  _ memories _ —they weren’t memories, because they weren’t real—flicked through his mind. Blood. A vivid green apple with black flesh. Thousands dead, torn to pieces, bashed, ripped apart. Howie at the center of it all, thick red blood streaming from every opening in his petrified face.

Wilbur cried out. It wasn’t real.  _ It wasn’t real _ .

The horror’s neck began to move, and out of it burst a disgusting mouth. It grinned at him.

“ _ That’s you. Do you see it? _ ” It said to him, lips moving twistedly and teeth gnashing.

Then it was as if a backlight was turned on, and the space around them lit up blue. The tentacles writhed horridly, blue goo leaking from its pores. The eye began to cry blue tears, and the mouth began to spill and spit blue blood at Wilbur.

“ _ Join us. Become our voice. _ ” A haunting, moaning, sullen voice echoed around him.

Wilbur began to choke. When he managed to start coughing, watery blue gel floated from him en masse. He was still choking. He kept coughing, and it kept coming.

Everything went dark.

Something played in front of him. A movie.

An older Ted hobbled the streets. He was dirty, disheveled, twitching and sniffling. He reached out to someone and begged, “Spare change?”

Flicker.

A new Wilbur stood amongst little  _ monsters _ , staring Howie in the face.

Flicker.

A man and his daughter took shots at each other.

Flicker.

A woman disintegrated before his eyes.

Flicker.

Curt shot Owen.

Flicker.

Owen shot Curt.

“ _ Join— _ ”

“ _ —the— _ ”

“ _ —Black— _ ”

“ _ —and— _ ”

“ _ —White. _ ”

Wilbur was choking on spit and sobs when he awoke.

“Howie!” He cried out in desperation.

It took him too long to feel secure arms were already wrapped snugly around him.

“I’m here, honey, I— I’m here,” Howard’s breaking voice came from beside him.

Wilbur collapsed against him and just cried.

Every part of him shook with terror even though he couldn’t recall any of what had just transpired in his dreamscape. He couldn’t grab ahold of Howard’s pajama shirt because his fingers wouldn’t cooperate, too unstable to grasp at anything securely. He couldn’t think straight. He felt like vomiting, but nothing came of it.

Howard gathered his partner into his lap and rocked him side to side, holding his head and trembling body. His own tears were slowing the further they got from the night terror—Wil had had quite a few of these by now, but they never became easier to deal with.

_ Howard was ripped from his dream by thrashing beside him. Something connected with his back sharply. He flung himself up from the mattress and began squinting blearily in the dark. _

_ Wilbur lay beside him, whining and panting. He clawed at the air, at the bedsheets, tried to kick something that wasn’t there. _

_ “Wil?” Howie called out to him. He reached for his shoulder. He actually made connection for a moment before Wilbur shot up, screaming and crying out for him. The fear that laced his words terrified him. _

_ “Wi, I’m here!” Howard said, even as he knew it was useless, Wilbur couldn’t hear him. _

_ Wilbur just kept sobbing and hyperventilating. Little fractions of words would make it through, like broken pleas and desperate cries to stop, to leave him alone, insistences that  _ it _ wasn’t real. _

_ Howard was soon crying along with him. Watching him was heartbreaking—he looked and sounded so helpless, so small. _

_ Wilbur cried out for him again. _

_ “I’m here, honey, I— I’m here.” _

Wilbur laid curled up against Howard’s chest, huffing shuddering breaths and sniffling every few moments. His strength was returning, so he could hold Howie’s hand without too much resistance from his own body.

Howard just kept rocking him.

The phrase  _ Lords in Black _ flashed through Wilbur’s mind, and he stifled a cry.

_ Please. No more. _

**Author's Note:**

> like my last woward fic, PLEASE go check out Lichinamo's "Growing Old (with you)"! they're a lovely friend and their work is incredible! we've been having so much fun talking about their series and my mini fics that i'm writing based on the AU! <3


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